12 Jun 2026, 17:39
All the Small Things
It was late at night on 29th May when Jessamine ambled up to the owlery. It wasn't often she took late-night walks – usually she preferred sleep, or when that wasn't an option, a steaming cup of chai and a book. But she'd just had a hunch – call it intuition, call it a need to see the stars. Whatever way you looked at it, it had her meandering through the castle in the dead of night, her sock-clad feet soundless against the stone stairs. Her fingers trailed against the rough stonework of the walls as the spiral stairs led upwards, finally opening into the first level, then the second, then the third. Finally, Jessamine led herself out to the terrace, where she uttered a small sigh and stared at the dark but starlit sky before her.
It would have been relaxing if she had not quickly acquired an owl to the face. Feathers slammed into her nose, then talons to her cheek, and what with the loud squawking from the owl and the obscenities escaping Jess's own mouth, she wasn't quite sure who had said the worse things. She stumbled backwards, bumping into the outside of the castle, only to realise that the owl had flown off and she now had a mangled letter in her hands.
She didn't bother to head back to her office or lodgings to read it. All it took was a tap of her index finger against her thumb and a murmured, lumos, and she didn't have to squint as she thumbed the envelope open. Then, she lifted out the letter itself. The handwriting on it was blocky but neat – Leander's. It had been a while since he'd sent her anything, and the once-familiar sight caused warmth to spread through her chest, but even that pleasant feeling didn't negate the lump growing in her throat.
The first paragraph was just a recounting of normal daily life, but it sounded so far away. He'd made pancakes the other day, with chocolate chips like how Roscoe preferred. He'd taken Cami fishing. She'd made friends with another snake in the garden. Cami had tried to teach Leander how to paint Roscoe's nails.
It was all the small things.
Jessamine tore her gaze from the parchment and instead stared into the dark sky, blinking as she strained her irises upwards. Her knuckles were white, the parchment wrinkled by her vice grip. But she returned to the words out of an impudent sense of duty.
Her father wanted her to write to him and recommend shopping in Edinburgh. Great. That was fine. What next? Roscoe had found himself in a little ukulele? Lovely.
(Wish I were there.)
Camellia had grown two inches. Jessamine stopped reading, glanced upwards again, and took a deep breath. She held it for a moment to still the thrumming of her heart. Then, she exhaled, the movement shaky, as if she'd seen a ghost. She returned her focus to the parchment. She continued to read.
She couldn't believe she'd missed it. Her son's first instance of magic. It wasn't going to happen again – sure, there would be more accidents, but not this, not the thing that guaranteed him admission to the very school she worked at.
And she'd fucking missed it.
Without realising it, Jessamine had crumpled the parchment within her left hand, her fingernails having dug into some of the creases, tearing them. Slowly, she sank down to the ground, her back against the cold, rough exterior of the owlery. This time, she gave in to the burn of salt behind her eyes.
It would have been relaxing if she had not quickly acquired an owl to the face. Feathers slammed into her nose, then talons to her cheek, and what with the loud squawking from the owl and the obscenities escaping Jess's own mouth, she wasn't quite sure who had said the worse things. She stumbled backwards, bumping into the outside of the castle, only to realise that the owl had flown off and she now had a mangled letter in her hands.
She didn't bother to head back to her office or lodgings to read it. All it took was a tap of her index finger against her thumb and a murmured, lumos, and she didn't have to squint as she thumbed the envelope open. Then, she lifted out the letter itself. The handwriting on it was blocky but neat – Leander's. It had been a while since he'd sent her anything, and the once-familiar sight caused warmth to spread through her chest, but even that pleasant feeling didn't negate the lump growing in her throat.
The first paragraph was just a recounting of normal daily life, but it sounded so far away. He'd made pancakes the other day, with chocolate chips like how Roscoe preferred. He'd taken Cami fishing. She'd made friends with another snake in the garden. Cami had tried to teach Leander how to paint Roscoe's nails.
It was all the small things.
Jessamine tore her gaze from the parchment and instead stared into the dark sky, blinking as she strained her irises upwards. Her knuckles were white, the parchment wrinkled by her vice grip. But she returned to the words out of an impudent sense of duty.
Her father wanted her to write to him and recommend shopping in Edinburgh. Great. That was fine. What next? Roscoe had found himself in a little ukulele? Lovely.
(Wish I were there.)
Camellia had grown two inches. Jessamine stopped reading, glanced upwards again, and took a deep breath. She held it for a moment to still the thrumming of her heart. Then, she exhaled, the movement shaky, as if she'd seen a ghost. She returned her focus to the parchment. She continued to read.
(No. They don't.)There's one more thing, Jessie. I was keeping an eye out – you never really know what exactly to look for, at any rate – and yesterday, the extraordinary happened. I took the kids on a little punting trip. It was lovely – really a beautiful day. But you know how those things are; they don't always stay so effortless, do they?
Damp dots littered the parchment.That was how it went for us. The kids started clamouring for the best view, as if it weren't all the same. Then Cami was pointing at a quite colourful fish, and Ross tried to reach for it... and he fell out of the boat.
My life flashed before my eyes. I rushed towards him, the boat swayed every which way, it was harrowing. But then, I kid you not, he shot upwards out of the water, carried like he was riding a geyser. It was the most fun he'd ever had.
It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to have happened a bit differently – last year, or over the winter holidays, or over the summer holidays, why couldn't Roscoe have waited another fucking month?So, yeah. He's magical. It's not like I had any worries, but I thought you might like to know.
I love you. I miss you. I can't wait til you're home.
All my love,
Leander
She couldn't believe she'd missed it. Her son's first instance of magic. It wasn't going to happen again – sure, there would be more accidents, but not this, not the thing that guaranteed him admission to the very school she worked at.
And she'd fucking missed it.
Without realising it, Jessamine had crumpled the parchment within her left hand, her fingernails having dug into some of the creases, tearing them. Slowly, she sank down to the ground, her back against the cold, rough exterior of the owlery. This time, she gave in to the burn of salt behind her eyes.